"What, no breakfast?" she said, holding up her hands. "Well, I've heard
of you single young men, but I never thought----"

"The tea's cold and as black as ink," growled the indignant lodger, "and
the egg isn't eatable."

"I'm afraid you're a bit of a fault-finder," said Mrs. Hatchard, shaking
her head at him. "I'm sure I try my best to please. I don't mind what I
do, but if you're not satisfied you'd better go."

"Look here, Emily--" began her husband.

"Don't you 'Emily' me!" said Mrs. Hatchard, quickly. "The idea! A
lodger, too! You know the arrangement. You'd better go, I think, if you
can't behave yourself."

"I won't go till my three weeks are up," said Mr. Hatchard, doggedly, "so
you may as well behave yourself."

"I can't pamper you for a pound a week," said Mrs. Hatchard, walking to
the door. "If you want pampering, you had better go."

A week passed, and the additional expense caused by getting most of his
meals out began to affect Mr. Hatchard's health. His wife, on the
contrary, was in excellent spirits, and, coming in one day, explained the
absence of the easy-chair by stating that it was wanted for a new lodger.

"He's taken my other two rooms," she said, smiling--"the little back
parlor and the front bedroom--I'm full up now."